I once found you in an old man draped across the keyboard;
Black tie, dark eyes
A snapshot of time I could call all mine.
A creak:
The wooden planks betray me,
And he would never even guess
That your old shirts lined posthumously on the rack
Like a 60s vinyl anthology
Hang perturbed by waif fingers caressing
Morrison and Barrett.
Lips on your neck, I close my eyes:
A breeze from my old dorm by the sea—
Cool beans—it’s that
evanescent smell of my teens—
I used to page through his book of your memories
While the bed creaked...
Perhaps this is why he’s covered you with a staff sheet.